Irish Eyes Are Burning
by Ski-Ming
Summary: -Ch. 4: Car trouble, mix CDs, and The OC.- Roy's walk of shame home from Kimberly's, and the consequences.
1. The Walk of Shame

Irish Eyes Are Burning  
_by Ski-Ming_

Disclaimer: "The IT Crowd" and all of its characters are the property of Graham Linehan and various media distributors.

Author's note: Set after 3.6 "Calendar Geeks." Reviews always appreciated. Hope this will tide you over before we get new episodes at the end of the month!

* * *

I belong to the staggering evening, I belong to the sweltering nights. I belong to the girl that's leaving, but all we're gonna do is fight tonight.

– The Ike Reilly Assassination

* * *

**Chapter One**

The hottest girl in his _life_, Roy shouted miserably at himself as he fled Kimberly's flat; hotter than any girl he'd ever seen in porn or even regular films, and he'd blown it. He hadn't been able to get the old ladies out of his head, and, even worse, he was pretty sure the images of Moss and eleven other geeky men cavorting shirtless were permanently burned into the insides of his eyelids.

Stupid, _stupid_ calendar, he thought. Stupid, _stupid _Jen ruining everything, first shrilling about sexism and then going on about "geek chic."

On top of everything else, the Tube was already closed and Roy didn't know which bus he could take that would take him even remotely close to his neighborhood. Roy kicked an empty Cuke can that littered the dark street. The nerve_,_ he thought. Whether this was directed at the Cuke can, the calendar, Jen, or himself, he wasn't entirely sure, but he decided that blaming Jen was easiest.

He sat down gingerly on what he thought was a bus bench, then flinched when he realized that the bench was in fact a large piece of cardboard covering a sleeping homeless man.

Roy started. He retreated to the other side of the street, then pulled out his cell phone and called Moss. Normally he would have preferred to text, but he was in a hurry for directions.

No answer. Moss was probably asleep already; his mother enforced a strict eleven o'clock bedtime, and it was considerably later than that. Roy swore for a bit and then, when he saw there was nothing else to do, he called Jen.

"'Lo?"

"Jen, it's Roy. I need you to Google directions home for me," he said in what he hoped was more of a command than a bleat.

"What … what time is it? What're you doing calling so late?"

"Look, right now I really should be passed out next to the girl of my dreams after forty-five minutes of insanely animalistic sex, and it's all your fault I'm not, so can you just look up the nearest night bus stop so I can go home?"

"How do I–"

"Oh, come on, Jen, you must know how to Google something by now," Roy moaned.

"All right, all right, let me find my _com_puter," she mumbled.

Roy stuffed a knuckle into his mouth; he knew if she heard him say "com_pu_ter," she would hang up on him without mercy.

"Where are you?" she said.

He told her. He then proceeded to tell her how exactly to work Google Maps, occasionally cracking what he thought were very witty invectives against her technological ineptitude.

Jen finally managed to give him a bus line number and stop. Roy was grateful to walk away from the man-bench; it brought back too many painful memories of his time on the streets. It had been, after all, the worst two hours of his life.

"Found it, then?" Jen said.

"I found it," he said. "Aw, shit, it won't come for another twenty minutes."

"Bet Kimberly wouldn't have had that problem," she said.

"Oh, _ha ha_," Roy roared. "Very funny, very hi_la_rious. The hottest girl I've ever seen in my life wanted to sleep with me, and you ruined it for me. I never even got to see her _naked. _ Thanks a ton, relationship manager."

"All right, all right," Jen said, and Roy thought she sounded considerably less groggy and considerably more irritated than before. "Look, I _told _you, we could get a proper photographer. Now I'm probably going to get sacked because Douglas hated the calendar, and you got off scot-free – you even _got _the bloody date, so don't go blaming me for what you think about in bed!"

"I – bloody – Did you know it sounds like your throat's caught in a blender when you yell?" Roy said.

"Oh Roy, don't be such a man-child _bastard_–"

She had hung up. He supposed he preferred that she was cross with him, rather than amused at his misfortune.

For what seemed like an eternity, Roy fidgeted at the bus stop and did his very best to not get stabbed by a maniac. (The only form of protection he had was his Sonic Screwdriver keychain, and Roy admitted to himself that if push came to stab, it probably wouldn't do him much good.) The bus finally came and Roy slouched down on a seat, attempting to lull himself into a doze underneath the fluorescent lights. He slouched in the bus seat, crossed his arms over his chest, thought about just how very miserable he was.

It wasn't until he had reached his flat and collapsed onto his bed – didn't even bother to remove his shoes – that it passed through his very tired brain that it was very strange that he had pictured old ladies and nerdy men while he was with Kimberly, and he hadn't thought about Jen at all.


	2. Pleasuring the Plumber

**Chapter Two **

_He had hypnotizing eyes. Chrissa was enchanted by his gaze, and aroused.  
_

Roy rolled his eyes, which weren't so much hypnotizing as they were puffy from not getting enough sleep. He had already read through the latest copy of _Mustard_ and he wasn't about to read _Heat _– or, heaven forbid, do any actual work – so he had settled on a romance novel Jen had left lying around. The book was called _Pleasuring the Plumber _and the cover featured a sexy brunette nuzzling a man wearing nothing but a tool belt. The actual story was more or less unreadable: the brunette and the plumber spending most of their time exchanging Meaningful Looks, with intermittent bits of fantastic shagging. One of the few Things About Women that Roy had gleaned was that for some reason, women expected every look to _mean_ something. He briefly wondered whether, when Jen went out with Michael the Not-So Magnificent, she had tried to convince herself that his eyes were hypnotizing. More likely they were just kind of googly.

"Moss, Moss, listen to this," Roy said. "'Chrissa moaned in ecstasy as Rafe's tool entered her. His wanton urge to plug her lust leak was stronger than ever before.'"

Moss sprayed his ear with water. "Benito Musso-_steamy_! I'm pretty sure that book is NSFW."

"More like not safe for life. I mean can you be_lieve_ this stuff," said Roy. He flipped through several pages. "They keep going at it for hours! In real life you go for an hour, tops, then go to sleep for ten hours."

Moss laughed. "Right. Then the next thing you know, you have to jump into your mum's robe and fix your hair before she wakes up, so she won't think you look like an ogre in the morning."

"Come again?"

Moss sprayed his ear again and focused very hard on his computer screen. Clearly this meant something, though what exactly Roy had no idea. But now he was looking for looks.

Stupid book.

Jen came in, briskly said "Good morning," whisked into her office and shut the door. Roy looked over at Moss, but his eyes were still trained on his computer. Perfect, thought Roy. The less explaining he would have to do about last night, the better.

The whole morning no one talked. Roy won and quickly lost £800 playing online poker.

Lunch came and went. By half three Roy was slapping the sides of his legs out of sheer antsiness. Sometime during the course of the day, Roy had realized that he liked things much better when they all weren't yelling at one another. A whole day of _not_ speaking was just as depressing as _speaking_ to Richmond.

At five minutes to five, Roy decided to extend an olive branch – or whatever you were supposed to extend as a symbol of fixing tense situations. He knocked on Jen's door and went in without waiting for a response.

"Oh, Roy, _don't_ start–" Jen said.

"Are you ill?" Roy interrupted her. "You look a bit … off."

"What? No, why?" Jen immediately reached for a compact mirror and started scanning herself. "Oh, no … I forgot to put on eyeliner this morning. I did everything else but not the eyeliner. I look dead without makeup…."

"Oh! No, no, you look fine, you look great," Roy said.

He didn't know why he always did this – always set her up for a fall, and then tried to pick her back up again. It had happened with Aunt Irma and the thank-you party, with Michael the Magnificent …

"Look, I just wanted to say sorry. For, you know, waking you up last night, and yelling at you. And to say thanks, for getting me directions." He smiled dazzlingly at her.

"It's all right, I wasn't sleeping," Jen said absently. She was digging through her desk drawer and pulled out a pencil. She began drawing on her eyes. She looked up briefly to meet Roy's confused expression – "It's eyeliner pencil. I always keep one in with my normal pens," she explained.

"What were you doing still up at two in the morning?" he asked her. Then he noticed that she wasn't wearing the colorful V-necks or tailored blouses that she normally had on – she was wearing a man's collared shirt under her blazer.

"I told you, Roy, geek's chic," Jen said coolly. Then her eyebrows knit and she put her head in her hands. "Oh my God, I can't believe I did that. I was just feeling insecure about getting sacked and the one with the underbite offered to get me a cup of tea."

"Which underbite?"

"The most pronounced one. Oh, _p__lease_ tell me I never have to see any of your friends again. I couldn't do it."

"Done," said Roy, with a considerable feeling of relief. He turned to leave but then turned back to face her. He couldn't resist.

"Do you actually enjoy reading this stuff?" he said, holding up _Pleasuring the Plumber_.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I didn't say anything's wrong with it."

"Well if you're bringing it up you must think there's something wrong with it."

"No, I'm just curious," Roy said.

Jen paused. "D'you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"And you won't laugh at me if I tell you why?"

Roy held up his hand à la Mr. Spock, trusting she wouldn't know the difference between a Vulcan and a Scout salute.

"Okay. Look I know it's stupid but … I mean I know the plot's horrid and everything, but all the _feelings_ are real. You know, I mean, like the plumber, right, he's commanding and manly, but not demanding that Chrissa fix his dinner or something. He just _wants_ her, okay, but not in a horrible way like Douglas does. Sometimes it'd be nice to be a Chrissa. For everything to be that … powerful.

"Anyway, it's five. I guess I'll knock off," she said abruptly.

"Right. Yeah," said Roy. "Night, Jen."

"Night," she replied. They both tried to leave the office at the same time and Roy tried to let her out first but he had stopped right in the door frame, so by the time they were both out they had each mumbled a half-dozen "sorry"s and "you first"s while trying to let the other through. Then Roy had to pry apart the doors to the lift, and of course after that there was the creaky ride up to the main floor.

When they were finally outside Reynholm Industries Jen walked to the curb and stuck out her hand for a taxi. Roy had walked several paces away but chanced to look over his shoulder at her. He took it for a wave goodbye and waved back. His long wingspan attracted a cab straightaway, and the driver honked several times before getting his attention.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't want one …" he said. He signaled Jen to take it, but just as she came over, someone rushed into the taxi and it promptly sped away.

"Sorry," Roy said.

"No, it's not your fault," Jen said at nearly the same time. "Well – see you tomorrow."

"Bye," Roy said, and walked away. He made sure not to look over his shoulder again; he had remembered, belatedly, that in a world of Meaningful Looks, _not_ looking back was the cool thing to do.


	3. Right What? No! Maybe

**Chapter Three**

When Roy got back to his flat there was a message on his answering machine.

"Hello _Roy_," Jeff's voice sneered. "I wanted to know if you were going to Zomburlesque. _Because I am gong!_" Roy could hear his meaty arm _whoosh_ down in a fist pump.

"I have the best costume. Oh, and," Jeff continued in a clearly put-on breezy tone, "I almost forgot: _I have a date!_ Ha-HA, I was lying! I did not forget that I have a date! She will be the sexiest burlesque zombie there! She is the Dominatrix to my Dominator! See you _there,_ Roy!"

"Well, no one can fault him for subtlety," said Roy. He hit the "delete" button, cutting off Jeff's would-be maniacal cackle.

Roy felt very conflicted about attending the convention. On the one hand, zombies and burlesque sounded like an unbeatable combination, and of course he was dying to see who or what had actually agreed to go out with Jeff. On the other hand, he didn't really enjoy going to conventions anymore. That was, after all, how he had met Jeff in the first place.

When Moss came over with their curries Roy asked him for advice. Even Super Smash Brothers Night was less important than figuring out just how to jockey the Jeff situation.

Moss considered as he sat down on Roy's couch with his rucksack still on. "That _is_ a predicament, Roy. You want to see the zombies, which may or may not include Dominator's girlfriend."

"His name's Jeff, call him Jeff," Roy said automatically.

"But, when they unleash the virus at the convention, you really don't want to be caught there without your radiation suit and a sharp machete. And presumably you can't bring a radiation suit into a burlesque event, unless you plan to strip out of it."

"What? No," said Roy. "There's not going to be a virus."

Moss gave Roy a Look from behind his thick glasses. "If that's so, how do you expect there to be any _zombies_?"

"No, it's a zombie burlesque," said Roy. "People come dressed up as zombies."

"Well, don't expect to use _my_ cellar when the zombies begin to pillage. There's only enough food and water for two, and if you're already contaminated I'll be forced to pick my mother."

"Noted," said Roy.

"Then, barring the risk of your brainmeat coming out through your eyes, I don't see the problem."

"Look, say I go to this convention and Jeff turns up with a really hot girl. I'll look like an idiot in front of him and he'll never let me live it down."

"Why?" Moss said.

"Because I'll be there, alone, and Jeff's looking to rub it in my face," Roy said. "He didn't take it too well when I showed him a photo of me with Kimberly."

Moss knitted his brow. "But you only went on one date with Kimberly. How did you manage to get a photo with her? She was much higher grade than Brandy or Crystal. I'm surprised she even allowed you to photograph the two of you together."

"I took a picture with my phone when she wasn't looking, okay?" Roy said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I was so scared she was going to dump me I had to get evidence early on."

"You, Roy," Moss said as he adjusted his Ness hat over his hair, – it perched about five inches above his forehead – "are _desperate_."

Roy roared. The curries were eaten in silence.

"You should just ask Jen to go with you," said Moss a few minutes later. "Tell her you'll cover her drinks. She'll be all over it like Douglas on _Crimewatch_."

"I don't know," said Roy as he hunted through piles of old takeaway boxes for a carton of milk. He finally found it under the sink and poured a glass for Moss. "Remember what happened the last time we pretended to be a couple?"

"Yes, when you philandered _my_ wife," said Moss, accepting the glass and sniffing it. "It very nearly blew my cover. After all, Jen would _never_ cheat on her tennis player husband for any old hoi polloi. Roy, this milk's gone off by at least … thirty days."

"Yeah well, learn to drink like the rest of us," said Roy, grabbing a pristine, ice-cold beer.

"And send _this_ six-pack to the dogs?" Moss gestured to his abdomen. "Thanks very much, but no way giose!"

"It's Jose, Moss. Not 'giose,'" said Roy.

"That's what I said," said Moss.

"Come to think of it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have Jen along," said Roy. "She's got a talent for spotting prostitutes – kind of like you smelling chemicals, but with sex workers. If Jeff's hired someone for the evening Jen will definitely be able to tell."

"Right. Just like what you'd be doing with Jen," said Moss.

"Well, no," said Roy, knowing full well that he was simpering. "I mean, I'm not going to _pay _her to _sleep_ with me."

"Right. When you intercourse her, it will be as lovers, not call girls and johns," said Moss, turning on the video game console.

"We're not going to intercourse!" Roy yelped.

Moss chuckled knowingly. "In the immortal words of the unforgettable John Cleese, 'wink wink, nudge nudge.'"

"What?"

"I want to be Ness!" Moss said, rather too loudly.

Roy picked Captain Falcon. He thought a minute about Moss's strange behavior earlier that day.

"Moss," he said delicately, "did you sleep with Jen?"

"Roy, I can most definitively assure you: I have no flippin clue," said Moss.

"What? How do you not know?"

Moss gazed into the distance (which unfortunately was the same direction as the toilet). "It was the night of Denholm's thank-you party. We were all so drunk we couldn't tell the difference between a USB port and Gordon Brown's bum. Obviously I was supposed to go home with Dr. Mendall but the next morning I woke up in Jen's flat."

"In her bedroom."

"Correct. I woke up curled up on her bedroom floor, without my shirt on."

"But you still had your trousers on."

"Yes," said Moss. "It's all very mysterious."

"Maybe … you know, maybe she puked on you and you walked her home, and that's why you didn't have a shirt on."

"Maybe." Moss looked unconvinced. "Why would I walk Jen home, though? She's as strong as a malamute. I must have had nefarious plans for her. All I know for certain is that the sexual tension between us has been pretty thick for the past two years. It must have been horridly awkward for you."

"Let's just play," Roy said, choosing Planet Zebes because he knew it was Moss's least favorite stage.

Frederick the Underbiter had had a chance with Jen; even Moss might have gotten a chance. Why, thought Roy as Moss threw him to his death, didn't he get a turn? It was really only fair.

After Moss left (shouting "PK Starstorm!") Roy called Jen.

"You've reached information," Jen said. "Where may I direct you tonight?"

"I don't need directions," Roy said and attempted an airy laugh. "No, no. I need a _fa_vor."

"All right, what is it this time?" Jen said.

Roy hesitated. "How are you, Jen?"

"I'm fine. What's the favor, then?"

"It's … how _are_ you, Jen?"

"Look, Roy, you've asked me to help you get out from under a desk. You've asked me to let you hit on my injured friend at my dinner party. What could you say that could possibly surprise me?"

Roy took a deep breath.

"I need you," he said, "to pretend to be my girlfriend at a zombie burlesque convention, so you can tell me whether a man called Dominator has brought along a … lady of the evening."

"Well, I didn't think you'd take it as a challenge," said Jen.

"Look, I'll cover your drinks. Plus, remember when I pretended to be your boyfriend? We're good at this, come on."

A long pause, then –

"When is it?"

Roy pumped the air with his fist. "It opens Saturday fortnight. You're the best, Jen!"

* * *

Author's notes (non-spoilery): For those who are about to write me a note about this, I know it's Eric Idle. I just thought it'd be funny to have Moss talk about the unforgettable catchphrase of ... the wrong actor. Also, if the "how _are _you"s sound to you like a blatant ripoff of one Tobias Fünke, think of it more as an homage. ;)

Author's note (spoilery): In light of episode 4.01, I'll try to be as canonical as I can about what happens in certain characters' personal lives.


	4. It's a Tijuana

**Chapter Four**

Two weeks passed with relatively little incident. The Friday afternoon before the convention, Jen approached Roy's desk "to discuss logicals." ("Do you mean logistics?" he asked, but really he was very glad to be interrupted from work; ignoring a ticket from the twenty-ninth floor was getting to be exhausting.)

"So where is this convention?" she asked him. "I once went to one at the Radisson Edwardian."

"It's, ah, it's in an up-and-coming neighborhood," Roy said, racking his brain for euphemisms. "It's in a nice hotel" – this was an outright lie – "and, ah, I think you'll really enjoy it. By the way, we'll need to take your car, because I don't have one."

"We have to drive?"

"Ah, yes," said Roy, "you see, it's not in London proper."

"Well, where is it then?"

"We'll have to start out a bit early, but I'll bring tunes and snacks," Roy said loudly, putting the conversation to an end.

XXX

"Jen, for the love of God and all that is holy, let _me_ read the map!"

"I'm – perfectly – _capable_ –"

A passing lorry let out a blast as Jen's Ford Ka skidded perilously close to its front bumper. Roy screamed.

They were lost and night had already fallen. Jen was trying to read the map and drive on the motorway at the same time. Not for the first time that day, Roy wished he had rented an army tank.

"It's just a bit difficult to navigate because of all the fog," Jen said and turned the map upside down. "It rolls in so quickly. You know I still don't understand why we couldn't have just gone to Hull by rail."

"All about arriving in style," Roy said grimly, gripping onto the passenger door for dear life. Perhaps Jen's red car was nothing spectacular, but it would look like a spaceship next to Jeff's clunker provided that the Ka got there in one piece, which was a large assumption to make.

"Let me make it loudly known," he bellowed, "that you are a terrible woman driver!"

"It's _my car_!" Jen said. "It's bad enough having to listen to your music. I don't need your criticism on top of it when you don't even _own_ a car!"

"What's wrong with the King Blues?" Roy demanded, all personal slights ignored.

"We're on a road trip! We should be listening to, I dunno, Donna Summer, not the maudlin music of the university station."

"You stole that line from _Clueless_," Roy said.

"I did not," Jen protested.

"You did too. I knew because when we watched it at work you said every line along with the actors. Maddening."

"You're far too fussy about watching films."

"All right, just don't kill us!"

"It's not even a radio station," Roy grumbled very audibly. "It's a CD. I made it for you, to say thanks for coming. And driving. And preemptively for not killing us."

"I'm really a very good driver," Jen said. "You know it's a very sexist stereotype that all women are bad drivers, and can't read maps."

"I'm not being sexist! Anyway I thought you lot were supposed to be able to multitask," Roy sniped.

Just then the engine sputtered.

"Oh, what is it now," Jen moaned. "I just had it looked at…."

Roy had a sudden horrible realization. "That's not fog," he said, "that's smoke. Smoke's been coming out for the past half hour!"

Jen let out a string of expletives that, while colorful and impressive, did not amount to a definite plan of action.

"Just _pull over_," Roy half-commanded and half-pleaded.

Jen steered the car off the motorway. The Ka managed down the exit, gave off what sounded like a shuddering gasp, and died along a dark row of petrol stations and rundown-looking travel lodges.

"All right," Jen said, "all right, I'll go into that motel and ask how far we are from the convention. Maybe someone will even be able to give us directions."

Roy nodded.

"I didn't really make that CD for you," he said sullenly.

"Fine," Jen said and got out.

Jen returned with bad news. They were far enough away from Hull that a taxi would be prohibitively expensive.

Roy said, "I suppose we can stay here the night, then find a mechanic tomorrow. Split a room with you."

"I'd get my own room, thanks very much."

"Just trying to save you some money. Besides you've heard about my flat. I don't need that much space," said Roy, whose shoulders were hunched into the ceiling of the tiny car.

"Oh, my _God_," said Jen, "It's a Tijuana."

"A what?"

"A Tijuana. You know, like on _The OC_. They're driving to Mexico, yeah, and their car breaks down so they all have to stay the night in a horrid little room." Jen clapped a hand over her mouth. "We were even rowing right before it happened! They were yelling at each other on _The OC _when it happened, too!"

"Who was?"

"Seth and Summer. We can't be Seth and Summer."

"Why not?"

"We just _can't_!"

Roy had no idea what Jen was going on about but being likened to Seth and Summer was plainly something to be upset about. He considered for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone and called Jeff.

"Hi, it's Roy," he began before Jeff could say anything. "We've had some car trouble on the way to Zomburlesque. I was wondering if you could give us a lift."

"Where are you then?"

"About fifty miles down the road from Hull. First exit after Doncaster."

"What's the magic word?"

Roy felt his face twist unpleasantly.

"Could you give us a lift … Dominator?" he said through his teeth.

"Very well." Jeff hung up.

"Are you sure he'll come for us?" Jen asked.

"Mm, definitely," said Roy. "There's no way he'll short himself the opportunity to show off in front of me, even if it means him taking me there himself."

"What are we going to do there, anyway?"

Roy shrugged. "It's a standard convention. Lots of geeky men, lots of booths with comic book artists, maybe Simon Pegg will turn up. Did you bring a costume, by the way."

Jen looked down at the blue dress Roy knew she usually reserved for dates. "I thought I'd wear this. Have you got a costume?"

Roy pointed to the "meh" stamped across his T-shirt. Jen nodded.

"That's what's odd about you," she said.

"What's odd?"

"Like, you act like you don't care about anything, yeah, like you think you're better than all of it, but you put your whole life into it too. Like going to this convention. You don't _care_ about Jeff but you're willing to drive to Hull to try to mess with him."

Roy shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

A minute passed.

"Roy," Jen said. She was concentrating very hard on the steering wheel.

"Yeah."

"Why do we yell at each other so much these days."

"Dunno," Roy said. "We've always yelled at each other."

"Not really, though," Jen said. She was clearly thinking very hard. "Back when I started up we all used to scream at one another, but we've gotten along much better since then. Moss and I almost never row at all."

"Mm."

"So does that mean," said Jen, "when you yell, you don't really care at all?"

"No," Roy said quickly. He added, "No one's _that_ complicated."

They sat quietly, waiting for Jeff.

* * *

Author's note: The track list for Roy's mix can be found at my LiveJournal (see my profile page for the link).


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